


The Magicians Cage

by arlenejp



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Army buddies, M/M, a picture, cursing, foul words, leather strapping, magic artifact, past relationship, purposeful sexual repression, thinking of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-15 23:36:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19306159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: I ask myself how I got into this stupid situation?If my flatmate is right, and most of the time he is--then it goes back to our beginning. To that day in the park.





	The Magicians Cage

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Magicians Cage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13599582) by [arlenejp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp). 



> This is a rewrite of an earlier fic.  
> There is mention of a penis but no actual sexual activity happens.

Lying on my bed, my eyes skim my naked body, slowly sliding from my stomach to the object of my horror!  
A sinking fear twists in my gut. Yep, it's still there.

******

How I did I find myself in this stupid situation?  
If my flatmate is right, and most of the time he is--, it began the very day we met. To that one cosmic minute in the park. 

******

I had recently gotten out of the army and was walking in the city of London trying to locate a place to live.  
I preferred to be in the center of town, but it would be unlikely that it would be affordable on my small pension.

******

Strolling into a convenience food shop I ordered fish and chips, and while waiting, I studied the newspaper.  
Things didn't look too promising for a flat in the range of rent that I could manage.

******

This morning was sunny, a small breeze blowing. A rare day for the fall season.

I had decided to stay outside, and paper tucked under my arm, balancing a plate of fish and chips and soda pop I walked into the park.  
'Oh hell,' I said to myself, of course, all the benches would be filled. It's unavoidable on such a great day.  
Not to be put off, I kept making my way along the pathway, scanning left and right, avoiding carriages, children and dogs.  
There up ahead, I saw a lone man occupying only a corner of a bench.  
Seeing nothing else available I stopped, bent slightly toward him and asked, "may I sit here? There's no place--,"  
His greatcoat; why he needed such a giant black coat in today's weather, was swept aside by long, bewitching fingers.  
I sat, placed the daily under my thigh, a napkin spread open on my lap, and balanced the paper plate on the napkin. Looking around me, I set the soda close to my side on the bench.  


******

"You are searching for a flat with a central London address. I am currently occupying such, but I do require a flatmate."  
Turning to stare at him, I notice how curious his looks were. Chiseled features, almost emaciated, curly hair toppling every which way and eyes that bore directly into my brain.  
"How the hell did you know that?" my face turned towards him.  
He scowled as if astonished that didn't already know the answer.  
His reply burst out in quick time, "newspaper turned to the rental page, those in mid-London underlined. Simple."  
"And you saw that in the seconds I had it out?"  
"If interested, 221B Baker Street, five this evening. Sherlock Holmes is my name," and he upped himself off the bench, moved away, his coat swirling with him.  
I had no time to stutter a reply.

******

A few months ago I had moved in and every day since has been a different adventure.  
Never sure which persona Sherlock Holmes will be at any given second. He varies from a joyous high to a gloomy low.  
It stirs a giddiness, a joy to be alive that I haven't felt in years. A need to be near him, to drink in his every mood.

******

The light from my window awakens me.  
It's one of those mornings where a particular part of my body is claiming my attention.  
Reluctantly, sticky cloth in hand, I climb out of my warm bed.  
I step into my slippers, and after finishing up in the bathroom, walk into the parlor.  
Sherlock is curled up on the sofa.  
Whispering to myself,' oh, one of those mornings,' I cook up some pancakes and boil water for tea.  
"Sherlock, breakfast is ready," calling him in from the parlor. He walks in, glaring at me, a glare that could break a glass.  
What did I do now?

******

Sitting ramrod straight in his chair, he stares at me, stops, fork in mid-air, "John, I must beg a favor of you."  
"Oh, you look so serious. Going to be a duzzy, huh? Whatever it is I'll take care of it," taking a bite of pancake.  
He pauses before taking another mouthful, "Your penchant for sexual orgasms is a distraction to my work. I insist you cease at once."  
The forkful of food I had taken in my mouth spews out, scattering pieces on the table.  
Blinking rapidly, shocked at his 'favor,' I gawk at him.  
"Say that again?" mouth gaping, dribble running onto my chin, too shocked to touch it.  
"No, you heard me. I don't state things twice," sipping his tea as if he had just asked the time of day.  
Simmering with anger, I place my fork on the table, wipe my face with the napkin, and take a breath," sorry, what I do with my body is not your concern."  
" It is my concern because it affects my reasoning," and lifting off the chair he moves away from the table and down the hall.  


******

"What the fuck?" I yell into the air, stupified at his demand.  
I squirm, wiggle as I feel a movement in my PJ pants. What the heck is going on?  
I freeze.  
Something is happening to my penis! It feels like it--.  
Jumping up off the chair, I pull the pants away from my waist, looking into it, and I choke.  
"What--wait--no! What the fucking shit is this?"  
Dropping the PJ bottoms around my ankles, I look, shuttering in horror, hissing, beads of sweat pouring from my forehead.  
A thingy is surrounding my cock.  
A constriction circling my penis.  
Swallowing rapidly, I can't hold my legs steady.  
I grab onto the table, stuttering, "shit, shit, shit. This doohickey isn't real," daring to use the tip of a finger to touch it, pulling back as if it would bite my finger off.  
It's real!  
Gasping out, "Sherlock," I scream, seizing the cloth bottoms with one trembling hand, tugging it up, and with the other holding onto a wall for support.  
"Sherlock," running, skittering, tripping to his bedroom door.  
"If this is your doing, you mother fucker, although I don't know how--get it the fuck off me."  
No answer.  
The flat of my hand bangs on the door and keeps banging, tears streaming, resting my forehead on the locked door.  
It's quiet in there, and after minutes of waiting, I scramble to my room to inspect this abomination.  


******

Lying on my bed, naked, my right hand gently lifts my prick. I scan the leather piece surrounding the affected area.  
Four light brown leather straps wrap around my genital, and four more are vertical. It's held together by tiny gold metal brads. A cage!  
My glans is unhindered to allow me to pee.  
There seems no reason why this can't come off but tug as hard as I can I only succeed in pulling my prick enough to make it sore.  
A damn, fucking, chastity belt! I can't get a hard-on no matter what I try to do.  
Fucking, hell, damn it to eternity!  
He says--he's a magician. Who is he kidding? He may be the smartest, most intelligent men I've ever met--but magician?--no!  
If he isn't then by what means-- tugging again--did this leather mechanism appear out of nowhere to wrap my cock!  
I can't believe this! No erection! No orgasm! No climax! No--no sex!!

******

Seething, pounding my hands on my pillow.  
I groan and moan, knowing he can hear me in his bedroom downstairs.  
Tuckered out, I find a comfortable position and weep into the pillow.

******

Sleep must have come at some point because I wake to the sun shining in the window.  
And feel that damn thing!  
And I hurt!  
My penis has ideas of its own and is trying to break the restraints.  
And I hurt.  
Glancing at my source of unease I grab my PJ bottoms, slide them on and proceed, awkwardly, to the bathroom.  
Peeing is not that hard, and I finish brushing my teeth, trying hard to regain some normality.  
But I'm far from normal status right now.  


******

I hear him puttering downstairs and decide to confront him. My gait is unsteady as I walk down the steps to see him sprawled in his leather chair.  
"Sherlock Holmes, you bastard! What do you mean by you're a magician? And if you are, which I still question, why in the very name of hell have you inflicted me with this, this inhuman thingy."  
"Your sexual behavior is not in the best interest of our living arrangements. I cannot concentrate. Therefore, your 'thingy' as you put it--," swiftly getting up, stomping to his room and slamming the door shut.  
Standing in the middle of the room I pick up the teacup, a newspaper, a towel, those items handy on the table, and throw them against the wall.  
A lot of good that does. I have to pick them up myself, including the broken pieces of the cup and saucer.  
"Did that alleviate any anxiety about your problem?" he quietly asks, padding back into the room on bare feet.  
"John, sit."  
Like an obedient child, I sit in my chair, pulling the extra maroon cushion behind me, leaning on it.  
He leans forward but doesn't meet my gaze, "Who's photo is in your wallet?"  
My brows knit together, ready anger searing through me, and just as quickly resign myself to his usual rifling through my stuff.  
My attraction to this man both horrifies and charms me.  
Reminds you of the man whose picture you've carried in your wallet these years, doesn't it?

******

"His name is James Sholto. He was my commander in many of the raids I participated on. Fearless, but smart. I would have to say just as brilliant as you. He also had the knack of deducing people and situations. It's why everyone was willing to go into dangerous situations with him. It was like magic, his charisma, his forecasting the events before they occurred."  
Sighing, shaking myself, giving up, giving in I proceed, not caring of the consequences.  
"I won't go into details, but it was if a magnet drew us together."  
My throat clenches, unable to speak.  
Choking on a laugh that almost spits out," me, who considered myself a ladies man. Me, who never gave a thought to bug--er, having sex with a man. Yet, this--man--genius comes along, and he's in my brain, my heart and yes, my cock."  
I've been concentrating on my hands, in my lap, flexing and unflexing and know he's immersed in figuring out my unsaid words.  
I hear him clear his throat.

******

I'm reliving, picturing the past and don't realize that time has passed, neither of us has shifted in our positions in our chairs.  
I'm staring, seeing, in my mind's eye, an event from-- and reality seeps back," well, It was so dreamlike--."  


******

Growling deep in my throat, I feel my prick trying to escape from the cage.  
The man across from me moves, hitching up his shirt sleeves, crossing his legs.  
Is he as ill at ease as I?  
"It was both terrifying and breathtaking. I couldn't wait to be with him. I had to struggle with my sexual self. James always knew that he was gay, and even though he didn't announce it to the world, he was comfortable in his skin."  


******

I rise, grab my wallet from the table, open it, sliding out that worn, tattered picture and hand it to him, barely looking at it myself.  
"It was taken by a buddy of mine," grudgingly letting him hold onto it while I sit back in my chair.  
The picture was straight forward in its content.  
James and I were in fatigues and he being taller had his arm looped on my shoulder, with my arm around his back. Our faces are turned to each other, me with a lopsided grin, while James adoring gaze focused on my lips.  


Revealing the next piece of the puzzle, I stumble over my words, "In all the times we had, you know-- we had sex he could not have an orgasm. Told me he never did, never could. Yea, I asked the usual about seeing a doctor. All he would say is there was an impediment. And it would take a unique transaction to change it. When I challenged him, he refused to discuss it any further."

I straighten up, balancing on the edge of my seat, " the very next afternoon after that picture was shot, we were together in the motor pool, and, well--," delaying, feeling numb even at this late date," a Hummer was being repaired in the corner of the building. We climbed in--and that's when we confessed we loved each other. And Sherlock," curling over, my head almost to the ground," oh Sherlock, he had a gut-wrenching orgasm."

******

Standing up, giving myself a full body shake, I need to escape that fixed gaze, I dash to my bedroom, slamming the door.  
He's not far behind and opens the door.  
"Don't you ever believe in closed doors and their meaning?" sighing.  
I'm lying face up on my bed; my eyes are drawn to the white ceiling.  
He paces the floor from one wall to the other, his fingers steepled.  
I can't help but turn to watch him, swiveling back and forth, my breath shallow, spellbound. What is going on in that mind? Where is it taking him--and myself?

******

"You kept, in your portrayal of events, voicing how similar James and myself are," pausing at the window, pulling the curtain aside.  
He's looking out the window, but does he see anything?  
Well, I guess he does not want to confront me face to face.  
I can't utter a word, frozen, focused on his slim figure, his body ramrod straight.  
Waiting for something specific to come out of that mouth, that brain.  
"There are conjurers in this world. Wizards who live amongst you. Our species, and yes, of whom I belong to, prefers to remain unrecognized."  
Snorting, raising myself to lean against the headboard I'm ready for whatever rubbish he pitches.  
I can't believe him. It's too absurd!  
But--peering between my legs, and thinking about James, about Sherlock and their illogical, harebrained minds--maybe there's some truth to this! His posture, by the window, is still so rigid, his fingers of one hand curved, knuckles white, around the sill.  


******

I'm beginning to unravel, feeling the pull towards him.  
From the very first encounter, the tingling nerve endings suggested to me that I wanted, in my mind, to be anything other than just a flatmate.  
Suggest something. Say something.  
Every inch of me is tugging towards him at the window. I fist my hands into the comforter.  
'Stay right where you are, John. Don't move'. Let him upset the air around us.  


******

The outside world vanishes, pinpointing into this room, the two of us, the unsaid words.  
I'm aching to remove myself from my bed, to encircle his waist with my arms, my head resting on his back-- and what John?  
"I suppose I should believe you. Hell, how else did I get this damn belt on me?"  
"Do you still feel passion for James?"  
"Only in the sense of what was once. If you mean am I still in love with him, then no. That's gone. It's just beautiful memories in my mind."  
Walking to the bed, he sprawls his body next to mine, while running fingers through his hair, drawing in a breath. There's a chink in his armor, a sense of vulnerability, an anxiousness. His cheeks develop a shade of pink.  
Is it embarrassment or fear?  
My fingertips graze that beautiful cheek, giving him encouragement and breathing room to tell me what is bothering him.  
I lift his chin and gaze intently at him, my confidence rising, sure now of the excitement racing through me.  
He touches my hand, pulling it away, but holding it lightly in his lap, "Your James and I are kindred spirits. As magicians, we can only achieve orgasms if we are in love--."  
My eyes widen," and let me guess, my--orgasms--were hard for you to hear--because you are--," pausing, "because I am--."  
My thumb caresses his lips, "and you never guessed," stumbling over my new found voice," that all the times I climaxed, it was you in my head. I'm in love with you. You idiot."  
Sherlock turns to face me, closing the gap between our bodies, his lips only a fraction from mine, "I love you, John--."  
His lips touch mine, the magician's cage slips away.


End file.
